I try to breathe as I sit down on my bed. I look at everything spread across it: Papers, sketchbooks, a coffee mug, a bag of yogurt-covered pretzels. My usual stuffed bear, Jack; colored pencils. Loads of colored pencils. My laptop: I was just using it to post something important on my blog. It was a pretty big milestone, in fact. But that's not the point here, I tell myself. Not anymore. If you over-think your success, you'll just be disappointed later. So I blast some music and go on Tumblr: the only place where I can do what I like and not worry too much about what others will think. But just as my song starts, Mom knocks on my door and opens it. She never waits to see if I say "come in" anymore.
I tense, knowing what will come. I've been avoiding my responsibilities all day. And now the sun was setting. Time to face my fears.
"Come downstairs and do the dishes," she says. I reluctantly get up, stick earbuds in. Listening to music always makes the job a hundred times easier. As I walk downstairs, Dad says something, but I can't hear. Turns out he was just saying hi. I say "Hi" back. Really, when I think about it, this job is a pretty good distraction in itself.
As I start working, at first putting clean dishes away in the cupboards, my mind wanders. I think about earlier today, how I went out of town with friends. We went to the art museum, the one in the (probably) most famous city in the state, known for being extremely weird and full of hipsters. The art museum was nice, though. I had to draw some of the works of art in one of my classes a few months ago, and it was cool to see them in person, I guess. But when I go to big art museums like that, my brain almost short-circuits after a while. Too much information at once, too much thinking. If I've been in one for too long, I start feeling lightheaded and jittery, the way I do right before I get a headache or become too dehydrated. Except it's not a headache, and it's not me being dehydrated. It's just me thinking and looking too hard. It's me exploring and loving the art too hard. It's one way to prove I'm the kind of person who does everything the hard way or not at all. Either I like the art so much I practically pass out, or I don't like it at all. I'm so weird.
It reminds me of how I play hide and seek, actually. The first round, I'm never found. I get the perfect spot. But then, after that, I get too cocky, even if I tell myself not to be, and I try so hard to find a good hiding spot that it becomes so obvious where I'm hiding everyone begins to wonder if I cheated the first round. That's how it worked last night, when my sister and two other friends and I went to the library for game night. There was both Wii games on the bottom floor and hide and seek on the second. At night. It was pretty cool. But in the dark, I tend to get mistaken for a boy a lot. Like, I'm not kidding. I wear too many printed T-shirts, I guess. But I can't help being a super-geeky nerd who can only win Super Smash Bros using the most cutesy character ever. Seriously, though, Kirby? Out of every single character I've played as, I can only win as Kirby? What is my life becoming these days?
My back hurts now. Lots of bending down to put the dishes in the dishwasher. And then standing back up to get another thing and bending down again to put it in the dishwasher. It's really hot tonight. Does Mom realize how warm it is? Of course she does. But doing the dishes in the heat isn't an excuse for anything.
An ad interrupts my thoughts; I forgot I was listening to the radio. I sigh. Almost done, anyways. Maybe I should draw something cool and relaxing when I get back upstairs.
I think about my summer homework. Yeah, you heard that right. Advanced Placement classes have homework over the summer, so students can get a head start when school starts back up. I mean, summer has barely lasted for a week and two days, so I don't need to worry too much about it yet. I already have the reading material I need. I remember being so excited to have gotten it. I wonder why I was so happy to have summer homework?
I suppose it wasn't so much the work itself, but what it signified. It meant that I was in. I was in the clear, and I will be taking Junior Shakespeare next school year. And I know that that is a good sign, because A) it was the class I signed up for; B) I love Shakespeare for reasons I have yet to understand; and C) it means I am on the road toward an Honors diploma.
But at the same time, I have the attitude of not ever wanting to set foot in that place ever again. I don't know why. I used to love school; I used to want to go, every day. But high school isn't nearly as rewarding as it should be, in my opinion. It's like, in order not to get a letter home, in order to not get in trouble, you have to do well. Instead of doing well being a rewarding experience, you're expected to just get good grades. And I don't know why but I just despise that expectation. Plus, the grading is brutal, compared to other countries. In a lot of other countries, getting 50% is a C. A passing grade, a job well done. But here, in America? 50% is a low F. You think us Americans are dumb? Maybe it's just the grading system that needs to be fixed.
Not to mention that my school is adopting this "proficiency grading system". Ugh. Instead of percents or letters, we're being graded on a 1 to 5 scale. Let me explain these in that order. If you get a 1, it means you didn't even turn your assigment in, or you weren't there. It's basically the equivalent of "missing." If you get a 2, it means you tried, but messed up so bad you might as well just redo everything. A 3 means you missed a few questions; you could have done better. A four says you missed maybe one or two at the maximum, but you didn't get a perfect score; you know your stuff, but can still improve. And a 5 means it's perfect; there are no notes to make, other than that it's pure perfection -- nothing wrong or out of place. A 5 is 100%.
I would like to point out that a 3 is in the middle, like a C would be. It's designated for those who missed more than a couple, but still obviously get the point. But the thing that bothers me the most is that everyone's saying that a 3 doesn't pass. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, a C just doesn't cut it anymore -- now you have to get a 4 (aka a B) or higher. Now they're really expecting everyone to succeed.
And I don't know why, but the expectation that I will do well just makes me about 60% more likely to fail. And that is why I hate this system. Everyone's grades will start to go down. I'm already stressing about it too much and it's not even really the official grading system yet. I"M NOT EVEN IN SCHOOL RIGHT NOW AND IT STILL STRESSES ME OUT. Kids don't need more stress in their lives. They should have more freedom, give them more of a chance, not less of one.
Ugh. I frown as I squirt dishwasher soap into the little compartment, slam the door of the dishwasher closed, and press the start button. I grump upstairs. I talked myself into a bad mood, darn it. Well, I think. There's only one way to fix that.
I should go write about it.
~Polar
((If you didn't see it yet and are too lazy to specifically navigate to it, I posted the first page of a comic not too long ago. You can go here to read it.))
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